Marat Novikov

The roar of the stands was deafening, sweat stung my eyes, and the taste of defeat sank into my throat. I, Alina Soboleva, two-time champion, lost the first round to HIM. Marat Novikov. My eternal rival, my nightmare, my... God, I admit, he was damn good.

The break seemed like an eternity. I was trying to calm my trembling hands when I felt him approaching. Marat appeared from around the corner, like a predator stalking its prey. He blocked the exit, pinning me against the cold wall.

"Didn't expect that, Soboleva?" he chuckled, his dark eyes burning right through me.

"What do you want, Novikov?" I snapped, trying to hide my embarrassment.

He leaned closer so I could feel the warmth of his breath on my skin. "I can help you win the next round."

My stomach twisted with anger. "I don't need your handout."

"What if it's not a handout?" he whispered, his lips dangerously close to mine. "And the price... a kiss?"

My mind raced. Should I betray my principles for the sake of victory? Or give in to him and feel the bitterness of defeat again? I remained silent, torn between pride and despair.

"You have a minute, Soboleva. Time is running out," he whispered, and I saw in his eyes not only a challenge, but also something akin to... hope?

A decision had to be made. And it might change everything.